


Heartbreaking Bravery

by rainhadetroia



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Character Death, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Drug Use, Drugs, Eventual Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mafia Katsuki Yuuri, Mafia Victor Nikiforov, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Rape/Non-con Elements, Russian Mafia, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Yuri Plisetsky is a Brat, how many tags should i use to state this fic is fucked up but without giving away too much?, otayuri - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-07-25 21:03:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16205618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainhadetroia/pseuds/rainhadetroia
Summary: Winters were not harsh in Moscow, it could get relatively cold with the temperature reaching -15 degrees Celsius, and the nights were long. Yuri Plisetsky loved Winters, until he didn’t. Until he would no longer wake up to the gentle sounds of coffee being brewed, or the soft tapping of frozen water against the window. Maybe if he closed his eyes now he could still smell the fresh bread, or feel the light chills in his skin. And maybe, if he concentrated hard enough, even hear the murmurs of Tchaikovsky being played in the living room.Life doesn’t go as we plan, so was never more clear to Yuri Plisetsky when that phone rang in the silence of the night and he was begrudgingly taken away from his home. It wasn’t supposed to go this way, suffering and death were supposed to be something out of movies and have nothing to do with him, he was supposed to be by his grandfather’s side.Yuri has to learn what the world is really like in all its tainted and raw glory, and since there’s no way out but death, he might as well make the most of it.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER / ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Yuri!!! on Ice world, which is produced by the studio MAPPA, realized by Sayo Yamamoto and written by Mitsurō Kubo. All characters used were created and owned by Mitsurō Kubo, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Yuri!!! on Ice. The story I tell here about these characters is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of Mitsurō Kubo's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official storyline. I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story. I am grateful to Ms. Kubo for, without this series, my story would not exist.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING  
> this work contains depictions of violence, rape, mental instability, etc.  
> if it triggers you, if it's negative for your mental health, I advise you not to keep going.  
> read at your own risk.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this fanfiction! If not, you probably shouldn’t have been reading it. My apologies.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri never wished to be involved with the Bratva, but when his grandpa receives a mysterious phone call he knows he is no longer in control of his desires.

 

> “Yet each man kills the thing he loves
> 
> By each let this be heard
> 
> Some do it with a bitter look
> 
> Some with a flattering word
> 
> The coward does it with a kiss
> 
> The brave man with a sword”
> 
> ― Oscar Wilde, The Ballad Of Reading Gaol

 

_Winters were not harsh in Moscow, it could get relatively cold with the temperature reaching -15 degrees Celsius, and the nights were long. Yuri Plisetsky loved the Winter. He could lie by the fire with his grandpa and his cat; they’d watch classic adventure movies, soon followed by some warm pirozhkis and hot cocoa. Nikolai then would turn off the lights, saying it was getting late and that they could play in the snow as soon as the sun raised, and they’d go to bed._

_Yuri Plisetsky loved Winters, until he didn’t. Until he would no longer wake up to the gentle sounds of coffee being brewed, or the soft tapping of frozen water against the window. Maybe if he closed his eyes now he could still smell the fresh bread, or feel the light chills in his skin. And maybe, if he concentrated hard enough, even hear the murmurs of Tchaikovsky being played in the living room._

It was in one of those scenarios, peaceful and lazy, where his life changed for good.

In the darkest nights of the year, specially the most silent ones, strange silhouettes made an appearance in his house; though that year it was specially crowdy. Various men in sharp suits and expensive cars would show up at their door, and Yuri was abruptly shooed to his room by his grandfather. Once or twice a red-headed woman would appear right by Yakov’s shadow, Mila was her name. She was annoying and loud and loved to make Yuri all levels of uncomfortable.

Yuri knew something was up; the apartment was small, and the walls thin. You couldn’t exactly keep secrets in this place. So when Nikolai came up to him after a mysterious phone call after the sun had long disappeared in the horizon, giving place for a clear sky, he somehow knew his life was about to change – drastically.

His grandfather had a grave expression on his face when he entered the kitchen. Yuri was seated at the small table, eating some leftover soup from the night before.

“Yurochka”, Nikolai’s voice came in a whisper, then he was gone, as if he hadn’t appeared in the first place.

Yuri knew what he meant, so he dumped the pan in the sink and sighed, heading back into the living room. His grandfather was sitting in the sofa, scratching Potya behind her ears and humming a soft tune.

“You remember your cousin Viktor, Yurochka?” Nikolai asked quietly, he looked Yuri in the eyes with an unreadable expression. The blond couldn’t help but take a seat in the armchair, trying not to let his anxiety show.

“Of course I remember that asshole,” Yuri grunted, “Why?”

Nikolai sighed heavily; if anyone were to see this situation from the window, or overhear their conversation from keyholes or cracks on the walls, they would certainly think that the old man was giving the boy news of someone’s death, or someone’s marriage. Yuri was suddenly extremely aware of every sense around him, even the way the cushion behind him gently scratched his back; the way the ceiling creaked above their heads, furniture being moved around and the faint cry from the baby upstairs, the air smelled of dirt and wood and spice.

“I’ll put it bluntly, Yurotchka. Our family has been for many years associated with the _Bratva_. Me, your parents included, though I deeply regret it now. Yakov, you know him well, he’s a very important asset to the mafia, given he is now _s_ _ovietnik_ to none other than the _Pakhan_ ,” He gestured towards the blond’s frown, “Your cousin, Yurotchka”

There was silence, Yuri hadn’t noticed he’d been holding his breath; everything slowed to a stop, as if that moment had pressed pause. Nikolai analyzed his grandson’s expression, hoping to see nothing other than horror or absolute disgust. What he got though was slight confusion and understanding, as if the puzzle pieces inside his head suddenly fit.

“Well, that makes sense,” Yuri’s frown got deeper, “though I still don’t understand how that idiot became _Pakhan_.”

He finally looked up and stared directly into his grandfather’s eyes, “and what exactly does he want from me, _deda_?” There had to be a real reason for this conversation, since it was just a matter of time before Yuri found out everything on his own.

“Well, Yakov reached out to me recently, asking about how your self-defense and combat lessons were going, and how well you were doing in school – with your little gang. Of course, you’re doing nothing less than extraordinary as always. And… well, Viktor is planning on recruiting you, as you finally became of age.”

Nikolai paused for a second, continuing before the information sank in, “Your skills will probably be used in the background, as it was for me, or maybe even as a _s_ _hestyork_ a if you are lucky enough...” _But that’d be impossible Yura,_ is what Nikolai didn’t say _, you stand out too much._

Yuri’s hands were shaking, “What do you mean, _deda_? I’ll have to be a what now? It doesn’t make any fucking sense!” His voice came out strangled, and he wished he had any control over the overwhelming feelings ripping his chest apart.

“Yura, we have no other choice,” Nikolai said firmly, “As I said, you may be used as a _s_ _hestyork_ a, an associate or an errand boy. However you _must_ do this Yura, because of the family, it’s your duty.”

“Hell fucking no!” Yuri yelled, getting up from his seat and slamming his feet in the coffee table, which trembled and almost let the tea cups fall, “Why do I have to get involved? I barely know the guy! Or the business! I’m not fit for this shit. Plus who will help you around this place? The streets here are fucking dangerous!”

“Yura, calm down,” Nikolai got up and raised his hands, as if taming a wild tiger, “The people from the _Bratva_ protect me, I was very useful to them back in my day, so you don’t have to worry. But it’s not up for me to decide, Yakov was the one who sent the word, I’m just following orders!”

“Following orders’, oh cut the crap! Am I not important to you? Didn’t you promise Mama you’d take care of me after she died? Are doing your fucking job?”, Yuri could hear his heart slamming against his chest, how could his grandpa do this to him? Even though some part of him felt it was unfair to talk to the older man this way, he still felt wronged and the guilt didn’t have time to process.

“You don’t understand, Yura, this is for your safety! They will come for you if you don’t oblige! There are others out there who want you dead, I couldn’t risk that! If I could, I’d have taken you far away as soon as possible!” Nikolai’s face was red, his eyes glassy, couldn’t Yuri see that they had no other choice?

Yuri did not answer, his face burned with white anger and fear, he could see in his grandpa’s eyes the hopelessness and absolute dread. He already lost a daughter, now he was going to lose a grandson as well. Without any other word, Yuri stomped to his bedroom, slamming and locking the door. He did not want to make things worse after lashing out like that, he needed time to cool off. He wanted to erase the past 15 minutes from existence.

* * *

 

The rest of the week was a blur. Yuri eventually came back to speaking terms with his grandfather, who hugged him after breakfast and muttered repeatedly “I’m so sorry, Yurochka.” Yuri wanted to say he had no fault, that his grandpa was never to blame; but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words, and somehow, he knew Nikolai wouldn’t believe him.

He hadn’t noticed he was crying until the arms wrapped around him held him tighter, they were so warm and smelled like cigars and old tea bags and currant jam – home; he couldn’t help but cling to them, as though they’d disappear any moment.

“We can’t run away, can we _d_ _eda_?” he sobbed.

“I’m afraid not, Yura.” Nikolai whispered, his voice caught in his throat, “I’m afraid not.”

After a while Yuri finally calmed down and Nikolai prepared some _kasha_ with leftover oatmeal and nuts. They ate in silence, the air around them was quiet but much more lighter. Some part of Yuri wanted to address the subject further, ask when or where they were going to take him, if it was going to be forever; but he also knew his grandfather was about to break, and that he probably didn’t even know the answers to his questions.

Yuri had nothing to do but to wait patiently for his fate.

Oh fuck that.

He might as well just sit on his own shit. So instead of being a dead weight he actually tried to help around the house and appear as nonchalant as he possibly could, so his grandpa wouldn’t have to worry too much. The days passed by much faster than expected, and soon Yakov was ringing their doorbell.

* * *

 

“What the fuck do you want?” he growled at the figure by the door, an old man with a severe scowl and graying hair.

“It’s nice to see you as well, Yura. How’ve you been?” the man answered briefly, making his way in and patting the boy on the shoulder, “Where’s Nikolai?”

“In the kitchen,” Yuri glared, “Fucking superb me finally hearing what you actually do for a living, Yakov.”

“You’re a smart boy, Yura, I know you had caught onto that as early as you could walk.”

Yuri huffed, turning his back and making his way to his room to collect his things.

This whole thing is garbage, he decides as he wheels his suitcase down the apartment complex’s stairs, the wheels bouncing carelessly with each step. He’d go with them silently, but was not going to give them so much of an easy time. They better fucking watch their backs or some asses would fly pretty soon.

His sunglasses and leopard print jacket were an added weight, but at least they covered the lack of sleep in his eyes and the shivers that went down to his fingertips.

Soon the men Yakov brought with him were loading his stuff on the back of the car. He was alone now – given his grandpa was forbidden to tag along and Potya was the only one who could keep him company in Moscow.

“Goodbye then, Yurochka,” Nikolai pulled his grandson into a tight embrace, “we’ll see each other again.”

“We better,” Yuri said before pulling away, “Goodbye, _dedushka_.”

“Hurry now”

Yuri got in, seating right beside Yakov – who grunted, “Is that thing really coming with us?”, he gestured towards the overly large plushie tiger that sat between him and Yuri.

The blonde lifted his sunglasses and stared directly into Yakov’s eyes, “Yes”, and faced forward once more. Yakov sighed to himself, thinking what had he done to deserve this.

The whole ride was some kind of epiphany, as they passed through buildings that soon transformed into rural land. The shoulders of the road had been mowed incompletely or not at all, and weeds seven feet tall grew everywhere besides the pavement. In other places they were lower; evidently the cows roaming the roadside had grazed them down. There was a bitter taste in Yuri’s mouth that sort of mixed in with the smell of spoiled milk and grass.

Other openings in the greenery revealed sunlit trunks of birches, spotted like Dalmatians, black on white. A woman in a _babushka_ strolled the ditch carrying a basket of peeled woven twigs—looking for mushrooms. Yuri wondered where she lived, if there were any worries in her mind besides lunch and possibly dinner – maybe even the clothes she had to put out in sun to dry before dusk. The boy gave a sideways glance to Yakov, and the old man had fallen asleep. “Fucking great” he muttered before he took out an old game console, trying to take his mind out of his home and his cat and his grandpa. This would be a long trip.

* * *

 

“Welcome! Oh, Yuri! How I missed you!”

The first thing he saw when stepping out of the car was red. Yuri tsked, already pushing all the limbs that clung to him away.

“Stop, you old hag!”, Yuri grunted. Mila was squeezing the life out of him with great enthusiasm,“Let go of me, dammit!”

She finally stepped back, a wide grin full of mischief, “You’re as grumpy as ever, I see.”

Yuri huffed, finally being able to look around. The manor, more like a palace, was truly beautiful. There were immense gardens on the front: ponds and trees full of flowers decorated the exquisite nature of the place itself. The blond found it odd that the _Bratva_ was set in a place so far away from Saint Petersburg, as usually even some of the big gangs in Moscow were found in the center of the city. But that was a question for later.

The air smelled of roses and it was utterly unpleasant. Yuri crinkled his nose in distaste.

“So! What do you think?” The redhead nudged him.

“It’s… Alright.” Yuri was thankful for the sunglasses, as he was sure his cheeks had become slightly rosy.

Mila’s smile widened, then she wrapped her arm around his and motioned for the entrance, “Shall we? The staff will take your belongings to the suite, so you don’t have you worry about that.”

Knowing he had no other choice but to follow, they entered the manor. The inside was even prettier than the outside, with grand stairways and Art Nouveau styled furniture and chandeliers made of crystals. The only thing Yuri could think of was how they managed to keep all of this running, glistening and clean; the amount of servants must be ridiculous.

From one of the corridors came tall man, he wore a casual blazer and held in his right hand a leash with the biggest brown poodle Yuri has ever seen.

“Welcome to the family, Yuri Plisetsky! This is your new home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pirozhki: puff pastry which consists of individual-sized baked or fried buns stuffed with a variety of fillings.  
> Dedushka/deda: Russian for grandfather, grandpa  
> Kasha: a type of porridge made from different grains  
> Bratva: Russian organized crime or Russian mafia, is a collective of various organized crime elements originating in the former Soviet Union.  
> Pakhan: is the Boss or Krestnii Otets "Godfather" and controls everything. The Pakhan controls four criminal cells in the working unit through an intermediary called a "Brigadier."  
> Sovietnik: ("Councilor"), is the advisor and most close trusted individuals to the Pakhan, similar to the Consigliere in Italian-American Mafia crime families and Sicilian Mafia clans.  
> Shestyorka: is an "associate" to the organization also called the "sixth", similar to associates in Italian-American Mafia crime families and Sicilian Mafia clans. Is an errand boy for the organization and is the lowest rank in the Russian Mafia.


	2. Yesterday's Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Yuri gets settled into his new life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm sorry for taking so long! I hope you enjoy this chapter.  
> Also, I'm sorry for any mistakes, I am the only one editing and writing this!

 

> “I've crossed some kind of invisible line. I feel as if I've come to a place I never thought I'd have to come to. And I don't know how I got here. It's a strange place. It's a place where a little harmless dreaming and then some sleepy, early-morning talk has led me into considerations of death and annihilation.”
> 
> ― Raymond Carver, Where I'm Calling From: New and Selected Stories

 

“ _Welcome to the family, Yuri Plisetsky! This is your new home!”_

“And who the fuck are you?” Yuri snarled.

The man leading the poodle had short black hair and obsidian eyes; the smile plastered on his face was sort of maniac but appeared genuine. The dog beside him seemed extremely excited to see they had new guests, so much so that just a moment of hesitation from the handler was enough for the furball to break free and run towards his target – Yuri.

The blonde felt the air being knocked out of him, brown fuzzy fur rubbed against his eyes and mouth. It made him gag and groan indignantly, trying to shove the dog off him. Mila did nothing to help, just stood there with her arms crossed and doing a terrible job trying to hold in her laughter.

“Meet Makkachin, Yura,” Mila snorted.

“I see the Young Master has taken a liking to you!” the man smiled wide, “I’m Georgi Popovich, by the way, a pleasure,” He bowed.

Yuri was still on the floor, and soon (for fucking’s sake) Makkachin gave up on the greeting and ran towards the front door.

Georgi’s already fair completion turned even paler, and his voice came out in a squeak, “Oh my God oh my God oh my God”, as he rushed after the fleeting figure.

Mila shook her head in fond exasperation, finally helping Yuri to get up from his position.

“That’s Georgi for you, and I must warn you, everyone around here is kind of crazy,” She smiled gently, patting the younger boy in the head and gesturing towards the kitchen, “You should eat something before meeting the _Pakhan_. He’ll say what’s expected of you and all that. You can ask me questions, by the way. The Boss requested me to explain some things to you, might as well get things out of the way.”

Yuri nodded, his mind still reeling with the number of things that happened in the last nine hours, silently calculating however he's able to deal with that. Food sounded nice, but whatever came afterward made his heart do little flips.

Mila led him to what looked like the kitchen; it was wide and spacious, there were so many cabinets and fridges and stoves Yuri wondered just how many people lived in this place, with the number of chairs and tables cluttered together.

“Everyone eats here, no matter the rank. The only ones allowed in the Dining Room beside the _Pakhan_ are the Spies and sometimes myself, Georgi, and the other _br_ _igadiers_. No one else,” in a fleeting moment there seemed to be a shadow over Mila’s eyes, but soon it was gone and maybe Yuri imagined it, “You should notice that the house may look a tad empty for a while, as most people have relocated to our other headquarters inside the city for this season. Do you like _stroganoff_?”

He shrugged and she motioned for him to take a seat at a stool while she roamed through the cabinets and gathered a few ingredients.

“So… How come you need more than one place? I thought gangs usually resided solely inside the city.” Yuri asked mindlessly, taking one last look around the clear tiles before returning his gaze to Mila’s merciless hands when chopping down the beef.

Mila laughed heartedly, waving her hand in front of her face and shaking her head, “No, no, Yura! This isn’t simply _gang_ business, not like the ones you had in Moscow. No, we are the mafia. This is a big organization, not mere child’s play,” She put the ingredients into the pan and the pasta into the boiling water, “But to answer your question, we do own a few houses in most metropolitan cities in all Russia. St. Petersburg is just what you could call our “home base”, here is where we come to train and rest from missions.”

The blonde hummed, sipping in some lemon juice Mila had pointed him towards.

“Alright, while that boils, let's get one thing of _major_ importance straight,” the redhead emphasized while pointing the spoon in Yuri’s direction, “The ranks, you’ll need to know them to get around here. Below the Pakhan, there are two very important people: the _sovietnik_ , you know Yakov. He’s like a counselor of sorts. Then there’s the _o_ _bshchak_ , her name’s Lilia, but call her Ms. Baranovskaya. She’s the bookmaker for us, _b_ _rigadiers_ , but she also bribes the government from time to time,” Mila kept stirring the sauce, adding the meat.

“You should be careful around her, she’s extremely strict; and don’t mention Yakov too much around her, their divorce did not go well,” the redhead signed and continued, “then there’s me, Georgi, and two other guys. We are _brigadiers_ , as I’ve mentioned before. We are basically captains, and we have small groups of people who we’re in charge of. There’s never more than two of us in the same place, as we enjoy running our business in our own hometowns,” she than let out a humored laugh while making a taste test with a spoon, “But hell, I grew up here, so you could say I am quite attached.

Moving on, we have the _boyeviks_ , they are our warriors and extremely important to our activity. Then the _kryshas_ , _torpedos_ , _bykis_ and _shestyorkas_. I can explain all that later,” her eyes sparkled excitedly, “Oh, this smells divine! I might make some for myself later...”

She had just finished with the sauce, pouring everything into the noodles. Yuri couldn’t hide his hunger, but he swallowed, wanting to ask a question before his vision clouded.

“I… Didn’t expect for it to be this way.”

At this, the woman turned her head, a question in her eyes; she made a plate for the boy and slid it in his direction, then crouched to get some silverware.

“I mean, freaking poodles and roses and all that shit,” Yuri grumbled and reached for his plate. He went for a fork full of the food as Mila raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms.

“What? You expected dark alleyways and vandalized graffiti in dirty walls? Crackheads all over the place? The smell of urine?” The redhead ignored the mess she made, sliding around the island and gracefully sitting on a stool right beside the younger boy. “Please, Yura, we have class, you know,” She messed with his hair as he dived into the stroganoff, all sticky and flushed cheeks, “You’re gonna get through just fine, we got your back.”

 

* * *

 

After about twenty minutes of Yuri stuffing his face, then having to clean himself up, Mila guided him around the mansion in the direction to the _Pakhan_ ’s office.

The tour was brief, and Mila moved so fast through the endless corridors, but Yuri was able to catch a glimpse of the glaring lights from the training stations outside the house; he couldn’t very well see what was going on. He also saw a library somewhere, a gallery and even a ballroom. All he knew was that this place was a maze and he couldn’t possibly see himself finding his way around anywhere in the near future.

They stopped in front of a pair of wooden doors, they weren’t so tall that they could touch the ceiling, however, they were imposing and somehow threatening. The figure standing in front of the entrance did not help with the image, as he looked more like a bear than anything else.

 _Calm the fuck down_ , Yuri thought to himself, _they’re just shitty doors,_ _not fucking Dante’s kind of Hell_.

The man nodded towards Mila when she waved animatedly. For a guy so big, Yuri was impressed with the kind almond eyes that peeked behind the sunglasses. He was probably Japanese, with tan skin and jet black hair. He swiftly pulled at the silver handle as they got closer.

“How’re the kids, Takashi?” The redhead asked when they passed by him, but the bodyguard simply quirked his lips and lowered his eyes, closing the door behind them.

Yuri looked inside, and honestly, what he saw didn’t surprise him in the least. The walls were tall with dark wooden shelves filled with old books, and the windows were heavy with curtains the color of red wine. The air around them smelled heavily of cigarette smoke, and the blond had to hold in his coughs. Everything screamed The Godfather and Yuri couldn’t help but roll his eyes, there was even an old globe with the world map in the corner, for God’s sake. _What the actual fuck_.

In the center, there was a table as dark as the shelves, illuminated by the lamp standing right on top of it, and a leather chair was turned with its back to them. There was a moment of dramatic silence before Mila cleared her throat and tapped her foot on the ground. Few seconds passed before the chair finally turned, and of fucking course it was Viktor who was seated in it, looking all smug with a light grin on his face and a lit cigarette hanging loosely from his fingers.

“Yura! I’m glad to see you alive and well! How’s Nikolai?”

The blond scowled. He was never a big fan of Viktor, though he secretly admired him in his own way – not that he was ever going to admit that. Nikolai and Yakov’s conversations always had a word to put in about Vitya, the golden boy, a genius, his father’s successor. At every family gathering in the past, the time when Yuri’s parents were still around and his grandpa was probably working with the _Bratva_ , Viktor had been the center of attention. Though in real life he was just a childish aloof idiot, at least in Yuri’s eyes.

“He’s alright,” he murmured, a frown still in place.

Viktor laughed good-naturedly, taking one last drag before dumping the cigarette into the ashtray in front of him, “Good good. Well, I do hope you made a nice trip, even though Yakov can be such a bore in these kinds of situations, especially for eight hours straight.” He got up from his chair and walked around the table, just so he could sit right on top of it. Mila scoffed.

“ _Pakhan_ , with all due respect, could we please skip the small talk and get to the point? I haven’t yet shown Yuri to his quarters or assigned my _boyeviks_ their missions.”

Viktor waved her off, “No need for you to be so kind, Mila, I’ll arrange for someone else to accompany Yuri. You can go and take care of your duties.”

“But-,” She turned her gaze from Yuri to Viktor, hesitant.

“You’re dismissed, _brigadier_ Mila.” Viktor interrupted with a cool voice.

The redhead’s eyes flashed, but she bowed nonetheless and excused herself, the heavy doors closing behind Yuri’s back with a slam. He returned his attention to the older man, trying to keep his expression neutral and hiding his trembling hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

Viktor smiled pleasantly and clapped his gloved hands together.

“Well well, I first wanted to welcome you to the _Bratva_ , Yuri. I know it is sudden, and you’re probably confused, but no need to worry! I will guide you through anything you need or are curious about!” he playfully winked, to which Yuri responded with an even uglier scowl.

“That’s disgusting, old man!” he squeaked, and Viktor laughed. Yuri’s features relaxed, if only a little.

“Oh, Yura, I always loved your sense of humor,” he then added with a more serious tone, “But back to the topic. Even though this seems out of the blue, you’ve been trained all your life for this. Your life in Moscow, the school you went to, self-defense classes, even your involvement in gangs;” Viktor opened his arms in a grand gesture, “Everything was specially planned so that you could be the least prepared to join me, us, in the _Bratva_!”

The silence that followed was dense, full of Yuri’s doubts and Viktor’s strong presence. Of course, Yuri knew by now what all this was, what everyone in his life had been lying to him about. But he still couldn’t help but feel a little betrayed, as if his entire existence had been just a lucid dream and now he was expected to wake up. Anything he tried to ignore earlier came crashing down, harsh and sharp on the edges, ripping his soul and shredding it to pieces.

“Then why...” he struggled with his words, but kept up with his brave facade, “Why had I not learned of this before? Why tell me everything now?”

The questions that had plagued his mind for days stumbled out, as Yuri finally felt it was right to ask them. Viktor tapped his lower lip in thought, eyes on the ground; he looked like a chess master planning his next move.

“Well, I must say your situation has its peculiarities,” he crossed his arms and looked up, “As I have discussed with your grandfather in the past, I was of the opinion that you should be raised here, among us. Your adaptation would have gone much more smoothly. But your grandfather insisted, your parents as well” the silver-head locked eyes with the blonde, kind smile on his lips, “I must say they were quite brave, as at the time the _Pakhan_ was my father – and the guy was anything but gentle. He owed a few favors though, so he agreed to let your family take you to Moscow, on the one condition they prepared you for the foreseeable future.”

Yuri sat down on the chair Viktor pointed him to, taking in the information. He was never more grateful for the presence of his grandfather and parents in his early life, whatever remorse he once felt had been lifted, and suddenly he could breathe. However the fire that burned inside him was still aflame, he still had the hope of getting out of here, of going back to his home in Moscow and then running the fuck away again. He just had to find a way, for now, he’d play along.

Viktor interrupted Yuri’s thoughts with a loud clap of his gloved hands, all cheery eyes, and sweet vibrations. The blonde was quite impressed with the older man’s ability to turn the atmosphere of a place in his favor.

“Well then, now that we have _that_ out of the way, we should discuss your duties! Yes, very fun, I know,” he rolled his eyes and went back to his place on the leather chair, reaching for papers and documents, “You’re what now, Yura? Fifteen?”

“Sixteen,” Yuri corrected but was promptly ignored once again.

“I should place you in the city for a while, get you a feel of what the business really is all about. It will be a great strategy for an easy transition, get you on familiar territory. I was heading that way tomorrow myself anyway, you should come with me!” Viktor motioned for Yuri to come closer, which he begrudgingly did, dragging the chair along and making as much noise as possible, but the older man barely bat an eye.

“There are loads of things to do there, not to mention this place is so empty and boring this time of the year. I’ll assign you someone to look after your training as well, a mentor of sorts, for now,” he shuffled in his seat and made a few notes, “I wish I could assign you one of my _boyeviks_ , she’s just on the right side of amazing, but she’s on maternity leave right now, just had triplets! Isn’t that adorable?” the man went on rambling, scrambling papers that Yuri was sure someone else would have to organize later.

“Here!” Viktor cheered in victory, making the smaller boy jump in his seat, “This one should do just fine with you, he’s one of my best actually, and super patient and kind. Though he doesn’t work with jobs, I think he’s the perfect match!”

“Why doesn’t he work with jobs if he’s the best?” Yuri grumbled, eyes flickering all around him to appease the boredom.

Viktor did not listen, or at least pretended not to, and proceeded to work his papers humming a strange song he probably made up on the spot.

“You’ll do some work as a _shestyorka_ for a while, in, huh… I think Emil’s brigade will do. Just to get you acquainted with the rules and all that. But soon I think you’ll be ready to go into real missions.”

At that Yuri had to swallow his pride, he couldn’t help but be someone who enjoyed to be recognized. They stayed in that unnerving silence for about fifteen minutes, enough for the desk to look like a victim of a hurricane – with scattered pens and clips and pink post-its. Then the older man finally got up and called for the bodyguard outside, the tanned Japanese man Mila talked to earlier.

“Takashi, would you please call Otabek to take Yura here to his chambers? That boy needs something else to do besides shoot all day!”

Takashi solemnly nodded, but left the doors open and waited outside. Viktor smiled and nodded towards the entrance, “You may go now, Yura. Otabek will be here any minute, so just wait outside. I have a few things to take care of.”

Yuri hummed, shrugging his shoulders and following the figure by the door and blinked when it clicked close behind him. Takashi grunted something barely audible into his jacket and returned to his original position. Yuri had a feeling he wasn’t up for conversation, so he just leaned on the wall and glanced up at the details in the ceiling. Now, more than ever, Yuri wished he had a phone. If he ever won any money with whatever he was doing here, the first thing he’d buy was exactly that.

“Good evening, Otabek,” Takashi’s voice called Yuri's attention, so he pushed himself off the wall and turned his gaze to the approaching figure.

“Evening, sir,” Otabek’s voice was deep but sounded as barely a whisper.

His stoic eyes turned to Yuri, widening so momentarily it almost passed unnoticed. He stood, silent, then turned his back to the blond and walked away. The nerve!

“Hey, you asshole!” Yuri shouted, running up to Otabek until he was right beside him, but the guy just continued forward without as much as a word, “What is your problem?”

He wouldn’t even glance his way! Yuri now officially considered him to be the worst person in the world, right behind Mila and Viktor. Maybe even worse.

“Are you even listening to me?” Yuri retreated in his tracks, standing just a few steps behind the black-haired man, however, the latter neither did stop nor acknowledge the former’s presence, just kept going.

Definitely worse.

“For fuck’s sake!” Yuri scoffed in annoyance, glaring at the retreating figure’s back for a solid 15 seconds.

But eventually followed Otabek anyway because he didn’t want to get lost. Not that he was going to admit that.

 

* * *

 

 

As they made their way around the mansion, Yuri’s body finally started to give in to the day’s emotions and fatigue – the adrenaline finally wearing down. He felt exhausted, barely remembering how many doors and corridors and stairs they came across. At some point, his vision started to waiver, but he held firm until they stopped in front of a door. The door. Fucking finally.

Otabek merely stood beside it, his eyes burned holes in Yuri’s temple. The blond felt a sudden heat at the bottom of his spine. But he had enough.

“Are you really not going to say anything?” Yuri glared, Otabek may have been a few inches taller, but that did not make him cower. They stood there for what felt like hours, but it was probably just a few minutes, staring each other down.

Yuri did not have the energy, though. Not now, anyway. So he simply huffed and stepped back, reaching for his door handle and pushing it open.

“Goodnight then, asshole.”


End file.
